The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1887-05-26

alone. 1never want to Gee your face
again., And before he could grasp
me and prevent me, had flashed in.
to the house, and had shut and bolt.
ed the door.
He waited then; he waited, / should
think. an hour. And I sat inside,
burning with anger, and with an un-
conscious sense of shame, very likely,
and q bitter disappointment, and
= wild, unnamed fear. And at last he
rose slowly and looked at the win
dows, and turned away and called old
ROLAND, and went slowly down the lane.
Aud he never came back. l could
see him walking along, ever so slowly,
in the clear moonlight, with the dogs
nose in his hand, till the road turned
into the wood that mounted the hill.
And when he had gone l just threw
myself on the floor, and all but dis
solved in my mad tears. And didn't
know what the tears were for-wheth-
er for fear OF losing Mark, or for fear
OF losing my home, or for fear of Civ.
ing up my will; but it seemed to me
that the end Of the world had as good
as come.
We were both orphans, we both had
these great properties, and we had
both better have been beggars.
That was June, and the full MOON
didn't sleep any that night hard.
ly know why; presentiment of evil
kept mo waking, although / was SO
tired. remember that moon now,
hanging in the purple sky, with her
wide wings, like q great boding ghost.
Every time l locked out, there she
was. By-and-by she begen to frighten
me, and shut her out, but lay awake
all the same, my mind in a wild whirl.
! The next evening. in the long after
glow OF the sunset, l tripped down
the lane to the wood, sure that l
should meet him, as had always
done, on his way to me; but the shape
| had been used to see bounding down
the path I did not see again: I went
close to the shadow OF the wood, but
only cid Roland came and put his
nose in my hand, and waited with me
while l waited, and went back with
me little way when / went back. 1t
did not occur to me to think that
where Roland was his master was NOT
far distant. And I went down the
lane no more.
After that, then, one day crept by,
and another, and life continued n
the old way, and all the business 81
the great farm. tkrlved in the hands
Of Bryan, tie directing overseer, and
all seemed to be- mere idleness. The
moving machines were humming all
day in the meadows, and the huge
loads OF fragrant hay came laborinq
into the barns, and thunder clouds
made panics, and the Lightning fell, as
it always did on the wet low grounds,
and burned one or two hay stacks;
and then the gundelows went doWin1
the river for the eelt hay, and came
back, days atterward, with their dark,
SQUARE sails set atop of their square
leads OF thatch; and one by one all
the concerns OF ripenins and harvest.
ing had their. season, and past. and
August was over. And Mark had
never once been up to the lane again
and September had gone, and the
harvest-moon; and ths hunters moon
had poured It's silver floods of light
out OF great lonely heaven; and still
Mark had never come.
| suppose Mrs. Wells, my next
neighbOr, know all about it. And
Mrs. Sawyer, on the other side, ol
course knew all that Mrs. Wells did;
They were very good to me, and they
and the girls were always running in
to see me, or sending for me to run III
and see them. l don't think / was
trying to carry things off with O high
hand, and l know I wasn't hanging
my head end crying over what was
net to be helped; simply made ur
my mind to the inevitable. 1 was
never going to have Mark beside me
any more, and must endure it, and
get through life as we'll as could.
had this farm on my hands, and all
the people who had their living from
it, and must do my duty. And per-
haps in time fate would be kinder,
and give me fever or cough, and let
me lie down and die; and he would
come then and look on me, and re.
member how had loved him, and be
sorry. And thinking how sorry HE
would be was q Joy Rugged to my
heart, and the only Joy had.
But used to long so sometimes to
see Marks dear face again, to near his
voice, just to lay my head on his
shoulder and cry my eyes out there.
Sometimes it used to seem to me that
l couldn't live another minute if
didn't run down that lane and up
through the wood to the old house on
the rock and End him, and beg him to
forgive me-forgive, oh, not just that
burst of temper, but the whole rebel.
lion OF my soul-and come back to me;
and sometimes felt that Unjust take
some sleeping potion that would keep
me benumbed till the pain had passed,
or else must throw myself into the
river always running by, brimmed and
shining and Indifferent.
And ! began to hate the river-the
river that had used to love so in the
sunshine, all blue and silver; that
had loved so, dimpling III its soft grays
In rainy weather; where l had never
tired of seeing the ice boats dart along
when it lay white under its wintry
mail-the river that now, in my grief
and trouble and WEAKNESS, flowed
past as calmly as if had never seen
it. How could it be so irresponsible,
rolling on bright and strong and
steady, giving me back no sympathy
now in my sorrowful mood, Civ.
ing me even no vantage-ground?-for
l should have had to wade into it if
had wanted to drown myself. Yes, I
began to hate the river. l began to
hate, too, these log, ulresome, mo.
tionless levels OF the grass lands-Oh,
so fiat, so monotonous, so low! Zone
is simply underground here" I said
to myself. Zone has really not the
air to breathe. One becomes like
those slugs that live under the damp
side of a stone. am under a stone
myself. Oh, for just a breath of air
from some point q little way up the
sky" 1 began to hate, l say, the
long green grass fields; and than be.
gan to hate the farm life. ut is dull,
sordid. base work, let them say what
they please" said l, ''from the pitch.
ing about OF the barn-yard muck to
the last results Of it. It is all non
| sense about its being the one noble